


Eye of the Storm

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Commissioned Work, Knives, M/M, Omega Lance (Voltron), Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, a/b/o au, tw noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: Lance alone in the middle of a storm, and a stranger at his doorstep.





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This was commissioned by my friend outeridiot-innerfabulous, with the background of serial killer Shiro on the run, finding Lance's cabin, Lance making the mistake of letting him in.
> 
> just want to thank her here :)
> 
> Warnings in the tags, be warned.

_-_

 

_Never open the door to a strange alpha, Lance._

 

The knock had shocked him; it was with more than a little fear that he creeped to the window and peered out the curtains. It was very late, the fire starting to burn low, and his thoughts turning fuzzy as he sipped a hot chocolate. He rarely got visitors while staying here, and never after the sun had set.

The knocks came again, louder, and Lance whisked the curtain as the figure looked his way. Alpha, he thinks, an instinctive curl in his gut.

“I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion,” the alpha calls, “my car broke down, and the storm, it’s getting quite bad. May I please come in?”

Lance nibbles his lip, back pressed to the door, staring out the opposite window..

The cabin was his haven. The safe ship in the centre of the roiling sea. He could ignore the voice, pretend it wasn’t there, and be once again in his cocoon of warmth, let the storm roar through the trees. Rain drums on the roof, sending shivers crawling down his spine, and through the waving boughs lightning streaks across the black sky. Guilt weighs heavy into his stomach, and with shaking fingers, he flicks back the chain and opens the door.

The alpha on his doorstep looks at him in supplication, breathing with great heaves, making a small puddle where he stands. He’s tall, strongly-built, classically handsome, with thick, dark hair and an intense gaze, already making him feel… weaker.

“Please, if only until the storm passes,” the alpha says, a strain of desperation in his voice, and Lance swallows his fear.

“I’ll grab a towel, come in… by the fire,” Lance murmurs, opening the door wider, heat filling his face as the alpha flashes him a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much.”

If his Mami were here, she’d make the alpha wait outside, give him a towel, and then lock the door.

The alpha introduces himself as Shiro, peeling off his vest and shirt to towel himself off. He hangs the clothes up next to the fire, _already making himself at home,_ Lance thinks, _typical._

They make light, awkward conversation, not helped by Shiro’s apparent comfort with sitting shirtless in a complete stranger’s living room.

Lance yawns, checking the clock. Close to midnight.

“Take the couch, there should be enough blankets,” he says; there’s no way this alpha is getting his nice comfy bed, “hopefully the storm will… let up by morning.”

Shiro smiles, thanks him, and Lance gets ready for bed, knowing at least the rain will lull him to sleep. Naively, he thinks he’s safely snuggled in his bed.

Never ignore Mami’s advice.

 

_You never know what an alpha wants, and the moment you let them in…_

 

Lance is woken with a loud shriek of thunder, and when lightning fills the room with stark light, Shiro is there, by his bed, mid-step, trousers missing, clutching something in his hand.

Lance leaps out of bed, blinking rapidly when Shiro switches on the light.

It’s a knife in his hands, one of those survival ones he sees in outdoor stores, a brutal thing with a curved blade and notched grip. Lance’s entire body turns to ice at the sight, trembling uncontrollably.

“P-please, don’t…” he whispers, but Shiro says nothing, breathing deeply, stepping around his bed. His eyes travel down the length of Lance’s body, tongue laving his top lip. They come to rest on Lance’s smooth neck, his unmarked collarbones, and he growls.

Lance backs up, hands reaching blindly for anything he could use to defend himself. Shiro breathes again, deeply, a guttural growl rumbling it’s way from his lungs. His tongue licks a stripe across his lips, and he smiles, baring his hungry, wet mouth.

“You smell so good,” he purrs, letting the knife swing in his fingers, “god… I hoped you’d take my hints, but...”

He steps closer, and Lance takes another step away. Shiro’s face curdles, and Lance’s heart leaps into his throat at the apparent transgression he’s committed.

“Where are you going, Lance?” Shiro asks, voice dropping to a growl, “haven’t I made this clear?”

Lance jerks his head, trembling, and Shiro’s brows draw down further, eyes burning. He brings the knife up to his chest, running a finger along the blunt side.

“Are you scared to be mated, Lance?” he asks, “never had an alpha’s knot inside you?”

A rush of scent fills Lance’s nostrils, a heady, heavy smell of smoke and sandalwood, and for a dizzying moment he thinks the cabin is on fire, because it’s so strong, and his skin is so hot-

Shiro slams him into the wall, and Lance screams, thrashing, before the cold, cruel metal of the knife is placed against his exposed throat, Shiro’s eyes dark and sure as they met his.

He yelps when Shiro’s hand wedges itself between his thighs, fingers pressing into his cock, running under to find his leaking slit. Lance shudders, and Shiro flattens the blade onto Lance’s neck, the sharpened edge digging into his jaw. He’s shuddering as well, chest rumbling, and he lets out a gusting sigh when his fingers sink into Lance’s thin slit, pillowed by his underwear and his pyjama shorts.

“Wet,” Shiro says in a husky voice, “wet for me, omega?”

 

_… they take. All they do is take._

 

“N-no-” Lance whispers, but it’s the wrong answer, as Shiro digs his fingers in, snarling. A jolt streaks through him, shock and the sudden spike of pleasure. His terrified, traitorous body responds in kind, glands beginning to swell, his skin crawling with feverish fire.

“Don’t lie to me, omega,” Shiro snarls. His hand is finally jerked away, but Shiro brings his damp digits to his mouth, licking them, “I can taste your heat.”

His hand seizes Lance’s neck, and he’s thrown to the bed, dazed. Shiro forces him onto his stomach, putting the knife to his throat.

“Wrists in front of your head.”

Lance lets out a sob, but obeys, shaking violently as Shiro shuffles around.

“Please, don’t… please…”

He screams as a ziptie is looped around his wrists, and pulled tight, tight enough to dig into his skin painfully. Shiro takes the knife, and there’s a tearing sound as he cuts open Lance’s pyjama shirt.

“God…” Shiro murmurs, using his now-free hands to pull the tattered shirt away, running them along Lance’s torso, along his hips, thumbs kneading into the soft flesh.

“Stop… don’t!” Lance cries, shivering at the cold air; his blood paradoxically on fire as the heat works its way through his body.

“Fuck,” Shiro moans, using his knee to nudge Lance’s legs apart. Lance trembles, trying to keep them in place.

He already knows he’s going to pay for this ‘disobedience’, Shiro forcing his head down, putting his considerable weight onto Lance’s back and legs. Lance freezes, and he can feel the rush of slick coursing from his thighs when he feels what could only be Shiro’s cock.

“Wait, no! No! God, no! Please!”

Shiro growls into his ear, pressing his groin down onto Lance’s back, jerking his hips so the thick swell of his cock drags against Lance’s skin. One hand presses over his bound wrists, the other groping roughly at Lance’s waistband, insistently tugging.

His teeth clamp down into the hard shell of Lance’s ear, drawing a yelp from the omega, and Lance grits his teeth as Shiro continues to nip at him, keeping him still as he forces him to be exposed.

“Stay, fucking stay,” Shiro orders, the words almost incoherent with his saliva and tongue in the way, slicking along Lance’s neck, “stay.”

“Stop…”

“Smell so good, _taste_ so fucking good-” Shiro groans, shuffling down so his cock pillows into Lance’s cleft. A keen warbles from Lance’s throat, mortifyingly, and Lance presses his face into the covers.

Even that Shiro won’t allow, tugging at Lance’s hair.

“No no no, let me hear you, baby,” Shiro purrs, rolling his hips, “you’re getting so wet for me, Lance.”

His other hand squeezes Lance’s ass, hard enough he’s sure there’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingers, and he slips down to curve his hand over Lance’s omega slit.

“Never felt one of these before, Lance,” Shiro says, sounding delighted with it, “only ever seen female omegas’, those are… well… this one…”

He hooks in two fingers, Lance groaning at the intrusion, gasping as Shiro wriggles them, pressing against his walls. His flesh is on fire, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline, heart racing. Hot, too hot.

“...straight to the point, isn’t it?” Shiro says, panting slightly, letting go of Lance’s hair. The weight lifts, and this time, Shiro uses his hands to force Lance’s legs apart.

“Fuck, Lance,” Shiro breathes, slowly using his fingers to open Lance up, breath ghosting over his half-hard cock and his pathetic little vagina.

_This was a natural response,_ Lance thought, desperately, _this isn’t what I want. This is just so it doesn’t hurt as much._  
  
The windows rattle as the wind roars outside, rain lashing against the glass, storming, roiling, but he’s no safer in here, ship aflame with rut and heat.

Shiro plays a little longer, sliding in three, four fingers, his tongue, digging it deep and moaning at the taste. Lance’s body aches, and he pushes up against Shiro’s tongue, the girth not enough, not deep enough inside. Shiro laughs breathlessly into his need, tugging at Lance’s now-hard cock.

“You want me, baby? You want my cock?”

His body did. This was heat. _This was heat._

Lance’s brain was dizzy with exhaustion, fear, and this overwhelming urge to be filled, this urge he never asked for or wanted. He didn’t even react to the terrible cracks of thunder that surged through the sky, already stretched so thin.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Shiro readjusts, pulling Lance into a tighter kneel, and Lance whimpers as the thick head of his dick teases his entrance.

“Your first cock, Lance? You’ll never be able to have another after mine, baby.”

He sinks in, shuddering with pleasure, and Lance keens as he’s filled, so wonderfully filled, Shiro’s cock splitting him open. It hurt, it hurt, but not as much as the absence, the cruel fingers and playful tongue.

“Oh fuck- oh Lance, oh god-”

Shiro grinds against Lance’s ass, putting his weight against Lance’s trembling body.

“You’re taking it all, all of it- fuck- fuck-!”

He draws back, carefully, letting himself drag against the heat. Lance’s face is pouring with sweat, vision blurred as he tries to blink away the stinging tears, a puddle of drool under his cheek. Shiro leans down, jerking his hips forward to bury himself again, and inexplicably presses kisses to Lance’s nape.

“So good, so fucking tight, Lance,” he says, voice a rough growl, now, “fuck- so warm, fuck-”

He pulls back, and slams back in, pulls, slams. Pull. Slam.

His words of praise turn to grunts and groans, grip digging into Lance’s hips, keeping him in place as he thrusts faster and faster.

Lance’s hands grip the sheets, pressing his forehead down, trying to keep some sense of sanity. Shiro’s rut and his heat fill the room like a fog, unseen but inescapable. His body can’t. He can’t.

The pace is brutal, Shiro’s fingernails breaking the skin as he tries to keep up with his own body’s desires. Lance’s cock has already spurted over the sheets; white fluid, but completely sterile.

Lance couldn’t make anyone pregnant. He could only get pregnant.

“Fuck- gonna cum- gonna cum, knot you- knot you!”

Shiro grabs Lance, pulling him upright so fast his head spins, snapping back to centre as pain splits apart his neck; Shiro’s teeth are sunk in deep, leaving what is unmistakably a mating mark.

A few last tears struggle from Lance’s eyes as he realises his first mating is truly gone, forever.

Shiro grunts, moans, and Lance gasps as Shiro’s cock twitches deeply inside of him, as deeply as it can go, heat filling him in spurts. Cum. Cum inside of him. Filling him…

“Lance, _Lance!”_ Shiro purrs against his mark, grinding Lance’s ass firmly down, “filling you up, fuck-”

He wants Shiro to let go, he wants to go into such a deep sleep that he can pretend that this was a nightmare, that he’ll wake up and this will be his safe ship on the stormy sea-

He moans as the base of Shiro’s cock begins to swell ever larger, too large, locking them together. Shiro’s tongue licks at the mark, lapping up the blood, holding Lance close as he lies them down.

He starts to nuzzle at Lance’s nape, sighing with satisfaction.

“So full, Lance,” he murmurs, hands laying flat over Lance’s chest, “aren’t you? Such a good omega for me…”

Lance lies there, dipping into broken sleep, body immensely heavy with his fatigue. Shiro strokes him, almost caressing him, oddly still and gentle as the knot starts to deflate. It slips out, soft, cum leaking out with it. It pools and sticks between Lance’s thighs. Shiro swipes his fingers through it, and Lance doesn’t have the energy to resist as they’re pressed into his mouth.

“My cum taste good, baby?” Shiro murmurs, smiling, tucking Lance’s hair behind his ear. He puts Lance on his back, sitting on the edge of the bed, hand trailing to Lance’s stomach. He pushes down, lightly.

“Don’t want to undo all my work, now, do we, Lance?” he says, but it lacks the cruel twist of his earlier words. Shiro seems almost pensive, tilting his head as Lance blinks dazedly up at him.

Lance’s heart gives a little quivering jump as Shiro stands, reaching for the bedstand. The knife is there, blade still clean.

Shiro looks at the knife, then at Lance trembling on the bed, completely at his mercy.

He leans down, pointing the tip of his knife at Lance’s neck, before tracing along the raw edges of the mating mark.

“Can’t even finish the job,” Shiro murmurs, chuckling, “fucking hormones, huh, Lance?”

He leans down, forcing his lips onto Lance’s, bruising him in one last place. Shiro smiles, running his hand through Lance’s damp hair. HIs eyes bore into Lance’s own.

“Have to tell you, Lancey, you’ve been my favourite.”

He wipes himself down with another towel, throws it to Lance, tugs up his trousers, and leaves the room. Lance stays still as Shiro moves around, noting distantly that the rain has stopped.

The front door creaks open, and closes.

Lance breathes out, the anxiety flooding from his body, and he can’t fight the sleep that swallows him up, blessedly empty.

 

-

  


_Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. Never open the door to a strange alpha. NEVER OPEN THE DOOR TO-_

 

“Lance,” a voice says softly, gently. A careful hand touches his shoulder, and Lance is jerked awake. Sweat beads along his forehead, and his body is shaking.

The bed, it’s… it’s the one in his Mami’s house, the yellow bedspread stitched with sunflowers. The window is full of sunlight.

His Mami is there, trying to hide her deep anxiety with simple concern.

“You were talking in your sleep again, sweetheart,” she says quietly, “another nightmare?”

Lance blinks, rubbing his eyes. He shrugs, giving her a smile she doesn’t believe.

“I can’t remember,” he lies.  
  
“Well, I’ve made you breakfast, sweetie. It’s out in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

It’s the third day in a row that he throws it up; he doesn’t mean to, doesn’t want to. He loves his Mom’s cooking, it’s the best in the world, next to his abuela’s, and Hunk’s. His favourite time of day is sitting with her at the old family table, safe in his cocoon of familiarity.

When he can pretend it’s a normal day, before the interviews and the therapy meetings and the investigation. Where he can just be Lance, the youngest son in the Chavez family, an aspiring artist and writer.

Not the only known survivor of the Champion, the notorious serial killer ripping his way through the lives of any person he deems ‘interesting’.

He slips out of his meeting early, complaining of his sickness. It’s not quite a lie; the greasy smell of the spread was making him queasy, and he was going to the pharmacy to ask for advice.

The staff member there looked at him oddly, and he wondered dully if she recognised him from the news or the tabloids, but instead she lead him to an aisle, and handed him a pregnancy test. It was a little blue box, especially for male omegas.

Lance had stared at it, and asked if she was sure.

“Yes,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. She did know him from the news.

The test is expensive, but money isn’t an issue anymore. He puts the receipt and the little blue box in the bottom of his bag, thinking he can force it down, like everything else.

But it creeps back up to him, in the dark, as it always does. Lance stumbles towards the bathroom, flicking on the light, and pauses. His bag is there, by the dresser. He could keep going, go back to sleep. Pretend another night.

Wake up sweating.

Lance upends the bag over his carpet, digging through it with a strange, furious vigour. He tears the cardboard apart, ripping down his shorts, fumbling with the sticks.

He sits on the toilet after, staring as it works, the sign reading-

No.

He grabs another.

 

_No._

 

He seizes the last, his eyes blurring as it shows the same result.

Pregnant.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> yanderay.tumblr.com 
> 
> there's more fics there, I usually post them there first.


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